


heatstroke

by himbostratus



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Bottom Antony, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, M/M, Role Reversal, Top Brutus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himbostratus/pseuds/himbostratus
Summary: antony and brutus decide to shake things up in the bedroom. this follows the same au in my last work.





	heatstroke

The night was warm. No, _ hot _. Sticky hot, stifling hot, cicadas blared, the air was stagnant, and the horizon shivered helplessly. The clouds had been staying deathly still in the sky, trapping in all that awful heat until it decided to favour the earth and let the rain down. Antony tossed and turned in the bed, his limbs stretching out into Brutus’s side for a single inch of cool, dry bedsheet. It wasn't fair, and he knew it. Brutus hadn't come to bed yet, and he wouldn't even have the chance to sigh at the smooth, dry comfort. And it isn’t even like Antony can console himself with the knowledge that Brutus snoozed and losed on getting to be early. He sat, sometimes for hours, outside writing. When asked, he had said he was journaling. Upon closer inspection, he was, but in the form of hundreds of unsent letters to his old friends and idols, now long dead. 

Maybe that was the reason for the blood that filled his cock with impartial interest, making it just so respite was just out of reach from him. Jealousy reared its head in many different ways, and Antony had never been content with the attainable. He wanted to annex Brutus's past as thoroughly as he had his future (Although, perhaps "annex" might be too strong a word for their current living situation. "Marry" is a more sufficient way to describe it.). He wanted everything from him, wanted to experience him from every angle and viewpoint, and, apparently, the arousal growing deep in his stomach wanted it now. Antony gave a huff, his fists clenched, and tossed the covers off of himself. 

Antony stepped out onto the porch where Brutus sat royally on the stone bench and scribbled away on a piece of parchment made rigid on his lap beneath a tablet. The thin light of the lamp brought out the sharpness of his jaw, the hollow between his collarbones, his throat shift as he swallowed, the sweat glistening on his forehead. Bats danced in the midnight sky and cicadas accompanied them with a song. Moths passed in and out of the lamplight. There was no respite from the heat to be found out in the open air.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, still writing. Antony pinches a lip between his teeth.

“It’s very hot.”

Brutus huffed out of his nose, a smile playing on his lips. He looked up at him. “I know, Antony. You seem like you have some other drastically obvious thing to say.”

“I’m hard.”

Brutus ogled him openly, blatantly and Antony flushed pink. “That’s not drastically obvious from where I’m sitting.”

“Come closer.” Brutus’s eyes, black in the thin light, met his suddenly. Some sort of unintelligible emotion flickered across his face, but Antony doesn’t know it well enough to discern what it meant. Brutus stood, setting the pen and tablet aside and strode to Antony, so close he grew even hotter. He realised, very suddenly, that Brutus was taller than him, too. He thought he had always known this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but there was never any merit to it. Brutus’s stature and effect never amounted to be as great as his height, which was just a few inches above Antony. He felt it then, though, and felt smaller beside him. Antony desperately wished for whatever poison in the heat making him act so strangely be washed out quickly when the rain finally fell. 

Brutus reached for his cock gingerly. His touch wass experimental, tentative, almost gentle. His fingers curled around Antony’s girth, wrapped in his thin tunic. Somewhere, in the distance, thunder rumbled low and forebodingly. Brutus pumped Antony slowly, once or twice, just enough for him to spasm in his hand and blood to pulse there quickly. He started to sink to his knees to service him, but Antony took him by the shoulders. Brutus frowned, almost concerned, as he straightened. 

“I was wondering if we could do something else.”

“Oh,” Brutus said, obviously feeling reassured. “Let me put my things away and -”

“Something besides that too. I was thinking maybe... _ you _might want to be the active one tonight.”

“_ Oh _,” Brutus said again. His voice was low. “Alright. Go upstairs and I’ll meet you there.” An air of anxiety settled over both of them as Antony shuffled to their bedroom and Brutus filed away his letters. Their roles were not new in general, but within their relationship they were, and with that came a virgin nervousness. 

When Brutus came to bed, Antony was already undressed and lying out of place without his partner to complete him. His skin was visibly damp. The window was open but the thin curtains were still. As Brutus pulled his tunic off and climbed on the lumpy bed, the air grew hotter still. He knelt between Antony’s legs, which spread to accommodate him. He leaned down and kissed him, running his fingers lightly along Antony’s side, who shivered beneath him and hummed, allowing Brutus to stick his tongue in his mouth. 

“Get them wet,” Brutus murmured. “I’ll not give you a second chance.” Antony moaned his affirmative, grazing his teeth along his fingers. It was the chill of Brutus’s cold demeanor, the way he flayed Antony’s flesh away with just a glance of his dark eyes, that made the stifling heat outside so tolerable. Brutus pulls his fingers out and prodded at Antony’s entrance. Antony clenched around him and Brutus shushed him mildly. He pushed deep and pumped slowly, working him open with thoughtful deliberation, the tips of his manicured fingers grazing the rough knot along Antony’s walls that made him cry out and cock grow even redder. A shiver ran through Brutus and he tried it again, coaxing the same reaction from him. “Look at me,” he demanded. Antony’s eyes opened. Brutus held his gaze as he rubbed his fingers against it. Antony’s calves flexed, and a cramp ripple through them. 

“Brutus,” Antony panted, his voice wavering. He reached down and grabbed Britis’s wrist, stilling him. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

The thought struck his face as if he only just learned of the concept. A smile and a blush graced him.“Oh, that’s right. Yes, I suppose I will.”

Brutus got up from the bed fluidly, cock perked up between his legs. His limbs were long and his muscles catlike, lean and sinewy. Everything about Brutus was long and slight, and it kept his aroused nudity classical and lovely as opposed to unrestrained and brutish, even as his name would suggest. Well into his forties, his body still seemed to wait to fill out. If it were any other man’s body, Antony would not have found it so beautiful. 

He took the bottle of olive oil on the chest of drawers he had brought up from the kitchen and started to turn it over in his hand.

“Wait,” protested Antony. “Let me suck you instead.”

“Would you like that?” The offer was tempting; fellatio by him was rare, but even so, that act lacked any semblance of dominance or power. 

“Yes.”

“Then no.” He cupped his palm and poured olive oil in it. He felt Antony’s eyes on him as he stroked himself lackadaisical. A few long drops of oil spilled onto the floor from the head. He wiped his hand on the tunic he left balled on the ground and returned to the bed. He knelt between Antony’s legs again and wasted no time pressing the head into him. They gasped together. Antony closed around him and Brutus slowly let himself sink in. He leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his lips, moaning into his mouth as Antony’s hole fluttered. He bottomed out, his pelvic bone pressed flush against Antony's thighs. Brutus waited until he loosed up some before he moved his hips. Antony was a vice grip around him, on the boundary of unrelenting, the heat inside of him rivaling the choking heat of Greece. 

He couldn't stop his mind from thinking back to the last person he fucked like this. It had been Cassius, and Brutus’s heart contorted. He steeled himself and straightened his back, sitting him straight as he started to fuck Antony in earnest. His hands were wrapped around his thighs, holding him steady as he set his rough pace. The discord of his ecstasy, racing towards his orgasm, kept Brutus's brow furrowed, his lips parted slightly. Antony struggled to stay above the surface, to keep himself from drowning in the storm of Brutus's passion, and his hand neared his cock to try to keep up. Brutus's batted his hand away, though, and took it in his own hand. His strokes were firm and slow, providing a terrible contrast to the quick, deep snap of Brutus's hips, and it kept Antony's completion just far enough at bay. It took Antony by surprise, the roughness with which Brutus handled him. He hadn't known what to expect, but he didn't figure this. For all his sharp words and brutal wit, Brutus was gentle, nonviolent by nature, only pushed to be that way by necessity. And keeping with such, the breakneck pace he had set, the pain that muddled Antony's ecstasy, and the delight Brutus showed at every proof of it, was curious, indeed. It made Antony grow even harder beneath him.

Brutus grazed that spot within Antony once more, and his cock sputtered as Antony cried out. Brutus abandoned his member as he continued at that angle. Instead, he tweaked a pert nipple, ran his fingers lightly across Antony's collarbone, and then rested his hand on his throat. He didn't squeeze, hardly applied any pressure, but it was an arousing sight nonetheless. Antony was overstimulated, clawing at the sheets for purchase, his limbs trembling. Brutus turned his hips upward just slightly, and with that, Antony shouted, clenched hard, and climaxed, spurting over his own chest. The focused scowl on Brutus's face melted away and his hand flew from Antony's throat to his hip, gripping him tight. "Antony-" he choked out between pants. 

"In me, Imperator," he coaxed. Brutus's rhythm stuttered and he shivered, spilling his seed deep into his lover. His grip loosened, his shoulders sagged. He rode out his orgasm with deep, slow grinds of his hips. Leaning on his forearms, he kissed Antony lazily, panting against one another’s lips while Brutus grew soft inside of him. Once he had sated himself completely, he pulled out of him and flopped down beside him, damp arms pressed together. Their chests rose and fell, and Brutus turned on his side. Antony followed him, his chest pressing against Brutus’s back. He was just about to comment about not minding the heat when the curtains trembled and the beginnings of rain started to sound outside.


End file.
